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The Infamous Cole Porter Crime Of 1985Dec 01 '04 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Return to when Michael Jackson was moonwalking instead of going to court and the Twin Towers of WTC were still part of the NYC skyline. Return to 1985!
1985 It was a year of loss. Two people whom I could recall being taken from me by death were: Edna (mother of Ruby ) who had a heart-attack. Among her last works were, "I'm not afraid of dying! Ain't it great to be a Christian! and Nancy (daughter of Pearl and sister of Dane, the latter who can often be seen playing the drums for John Mellencamp--and I knew him way back when he was just a little guy!) who had been pretty much bedfast for a long time, due to benign-but-growing tumors that were attacking her central nervous system. Even from her bed, she kept in touch with others via phone and visits, as well as watching the traffic reports on TV so she could pass them on to people who might be driving on a route where an accident, etc. had occurred. She was also able to keep attending services at her favorite church, thanks to its having a broadcast of its services on local cable. I think that some other people I know passed away during that year, but it's been awhile, so I can't recall them offhand. However, I do know that this was the year that both Rock Hudson and Liberace lost their battles to A.I.D.S. 1985 seemed to be--at least, in my corner of the world--a very good year (except, of course, for the losses I mentioned). The 444 hostages that had been held in Iran had been home for a few years, and Ronald Reagan was into his second term in The White House. For US, anyway, it was a period of peace. That summer, my epileptic friend, Diana, would be having some life-changing surgery, and I would be making arrangements with the powers-that-be at Mammoth Cave National Park to become the first person known to write part of a novel in the cave (bringing my typewriter, paper, etc. with me to The Snowball Room each morning--brought by van and taken down on the elevator--and staying there writing until noon. And, of course, feasting on their delicious chili come lunch time!) since, at least, the time when it became a national park. While down there at the park, I got to meet the uniquely-wonderful-talented-and-funny Marshall Ennis Mitchell whose friendship and kindness I cherish to this day--and the pun was unintended, but Cherish by The Association is one of his favorite pop songs, even though I believe that his very favorite is Morning Girl by The Neon Philharmonic (just a little trivia there--oh did I mention that he's nearly unbeatable in Trivial Pursuit!?!). You can read this to find out a lot more about 1985 (and then some) including the name of another special person who'd passed on that year (my former fiance's dad, Big Charlie, who had lived a full and happy life in spite of his nasty cigarette habit giving him the emphysema that would eventually take him), Since this last link tells so much more about this year, I'll stop with the history lesson and let you learn the rest from it. But I'll just say that it certainly was a very good year, and it was a pleasant Saturday morning in May when I headed for Logansport to attend the Indiana State Federation Of Poetry Clubs' one-day spring convention that was being held at the local Ponderosa. Let me mention at this one point that there had been a point when I wondered if I were up to attending, because, during the drive, I suddenly got to feeling sad about the most recent passing (Nancy) as well as the fact as our much-loved minister was, after nine years, moving to a church in Northeast Indiana. But I'd talked Pearl into going, and I didn't want to end up NOT going after getting her interested. Besides, these get-togethers were always a blast, and I didn't want to miss them unless I had to. Note: In the past few years, I haven't gone to them as often, as other parts of my life came first, but I'm happy to report that I made it to a fantastic spring convention held in the library in the little Northwest Indiana town of Lowell this year! The little nagging that "This might not be the right time for going to a convention!" was over within a matter of seconds. It was just one of those things--little did I know that, later in the afternoon, I would be remembering that little "twinge." I arrived at Ponderosa, and, after we'd all settled in, we had the early part of our program. A young man had come to present a program about fellow Hoosier, Cole Porter. He had just started putting it together, he told us, and he would be showing slides while reading from some notes. When he really had it done, he would record himself on tape with music in the background and planned on taking his presentation to any organization who might be interested in his coming there for a reasonable fee. As I recall, this was the first time that he'd done even this more primitive version of his presentation in public. I was really impressed, and my thoughts turned immediately to Elsie Perdiue. Who was Elsie Perdiue? She was a charming and optimistic senior citizen--a fixy woman with snow-white hair and a perky expression on her face as if she were always expecting something wonderful to happen. This coming March, she'll be 90 years young--someone who has had to slow down some in some ways but is still civic-minded and a lover of nature's beauty, trains, and history. Back in 1985, she was a mere 70 and had recently saved our local Big Four Station from the notorious wrecking-ball. She had been looking for special people to give special programs for something she'd started called Serendipity At The Station, and this young man certainly fit the bill! After his presentation, I went back and talked to him for awhile, took his address, and gave him the means to contact Elsie. Now, it was time for lunch. After we were led in grace, we went out to order our main entrees and get some items from the salad bar. When we paid, we were given tickets with numbers on them that we would show to the server(s) who would be bringing our entrees back into the private dining room where we were located. It was really nice to see Pearl smiling and talking with the people seated next to her. However, our hostess was a different story. For some reason, she looked really upset--and this made me worried, because a fellow poet who had lived right there in town hadn't come to the party. Had something happened to Bill? I'd hoped not. He was such a sweet guy--someone I'd met at Midwest Writers' Workshop back in 1977--and had made such a big difference in the lives of the people at Logansport State Hospital by organizing a poetry group there. She made the announcement that none of us was to leave the room--and I thought that this was the prelude for some kind of game, even though I still didn't understand why she had that upset look on her face. Of course, she had reason to be upset. Just the night before, I'd called her and she'd hung up on me almost before I had the chance to say anything after screaming, "I don't want you calling here again!!!" Confused (as she and I had always gotten along great before that time), I called her back--and she apologized for her hysterics. She had been getting crank phone calls all week and had just gotten another one right before I'd called her. I asked her what I needed to ask her, and, then, we hung up after telling each other, "See you tomorrow." Perhaps, she was thinking about those crank phone calls. Lunch eventually ended, and the dishes were cleared away--and this woman told us to look through our stuff (e.g. purses, briefcases, portfolios, etc.) to see if we could find the notes from the Cole Porter presentation. Nobody had any notes. In a little bit, she asked me to step out into the hall with her--and I was expecting her to tell me some bad news about Bill, since she still looked upset. It hadn't dawned on me what was really going on. I was shocked when she got in my face and told me to stop playing games because she KNEW that I was the one who had stolen the Cole Porter notes. When I protested, she told me that it would do me no good to lie--that all evidence pointed to me, since I'd been the only one seen spending time back where the notes were. This man was very upset, she said, and he also had suspected me. "I don't know why he's been saying stuff like that," I protested. "Could it be that I remind him of a teacher he didn't like in high school or a girlfriend who ditched him?" "Young lady! Stop being smart! Okay! Just go back in the room, and we'll be taking care of this after the convention is over, if you don't own up to it before then!" Suddenly, I remembered that little megamoment in time when I'd thought about not going to the convention after all--perhaps, I should have simply turned around and gone home, because that might have been some sort of premonition. Now, it looked as if I might even end up being arrested, and there was nothing I could do about it. I looked over at Pearl. She was unaware of what was going on and was still enjoying herself--and I'd been given strict orders not to talk about this horrible conversation to anyone. At least, to my knowledge, Bill was okay and had simply had other things to do besides going to the convention. Too bad that the same thing couldn't have been said for me! In a little bit, the hostess made an announcement that she had good news for everyone--those notes had somehow ended up finding their way under some notes she had on her podium. At that moment, I felt so free! I couldn't control the tears that started pouring down my cheeks. After it was over, Kay (who had been sitting to where she'd noticed my tears--and who, as part of the officers, actually had some knowledge of what was going on) came up to me and told me how sorry she was about what had happened. She was surprised that this woman hadn't offered me a public apology. I told her that it didn't really matter, because all was well that ended well--and she said that this wasn't entirely true or I wouldn't have been crying. Then, I reassured her that I was crying for joy and out of relief that I wasn't going to jail and that I didn't think that the hostess had accused me in public, so there was really no reason for her to offer me a public apology. I said that I was just glad that nothing bad had happened and that I not only didn't want to end up being arrested because I didn't want to end up being arrested, but that I was also concerned about how much this would upset Pearl after all she'd been through with losing Nancy. It's hard to believe that it has been almost 20 years since this happened. It isn't something I dwell on all of the time. The woman who had been our hostess and I went back to being friends, even though seeing her or hearing/reading her name naturally reminded me of that fateful day in 1985--just as seeing her or hearing/reading her name also reminded me of her kindness towards me at different times and our shared love of anything railroad. She passed away within the last ten or so years--and she also got remarried during that time, too. When I think of her, I would rather think of the really nice person and talented poet I've known her to be--yet, this is part of the fabric of our relationship. Sometimes, when I hear the name, Cole Porter, I'm also reminded of how I almost went to jail back in 1985. And, lately, something else has gotten me to thinking about that day: The trial of Scott Peterson. Although things look suspicious--just as they did for me back in 1985--he was found guilty due to what is known as circumstantial evidence. Even after the senseless murder of a very special friend , my anti-death penalty stance hasn't changed. Not once, even after learning of Roberto's murder, did I waver. However, even if I were pro-death penalty (unless I was one of those execute-and-let-God-sort-'em-out types), I think it would be difficult to give Scott a death sentence based on this particular case. No matter what we think of Scott Peterson as husband material, adultery isn't a capital crime in the USA--nor is smooth-talking the other woman and stretching the truth a little in order to score points. Neither is fearing that your life and freedom might be in danger and responding by both lying, changing your appearance, and trying to get away. I dated a man during college--one I, thankfully, didn't let in my pants, thanks to my saving-it-for-marriage view. When he found out that he wasn't going to get any from me, he found someone else. He, at least, had the decency to let me know (once he knew I wasn't going to be his toy) that he was married--and not decent enough to let the next woman in line know. I know this, because he told me not to tell her! She was a woman who had been around the block a few times (like Amber--or even worse), but she had the right to know. However, there was nothing I could do about it, because it wasn't my place to tell her. In short, the guy (however nice he might have seemed--and was in many ways) had proven himself to be a lying cad--but, if his wife turned up dead, would that have automatically meant that he'd murdered her? As I'm writing this, a jury is California is being shown two sides: a side for giving Scott Peterson the death penalty and a side for giving him life without parole. I just hope that the jury members will not be swayed by their need for revenge for this ugly crime that took a sweet woman along with her little boy who never even had the chance to be born--or, as some say, was born but never had the chance to grow up. I find it a little strange that a collection of people on their way to making up a hung jury was suddenly altered with the new collection coming up with a guilty verdict almost faster than the speed of sound. What I also find strange was how a lot of facts that would have taken the sole spotlight off of Scott weren't allowed to be presented in court. For one thing, there were other similar cases of murder coming to light in the same area (decapitated mothers and dead babies), but this wasn't allowed as evidence to be taken seriously, if it were even allowed at all. In fact, I have no idea just exactly what WAS allowed--and believe that Scott Peterson had been tried in the court of media and public opinion to be found guilty long before the actual trial took place. If there was ever a time for realizing that Scott Peterson would be getting a legalized-murder date just for the purpose of having a place to aim the rage at the senseless deaths of Laci & Connor, along with a place for aiming the rage felt towards jerk husbands who cheat on their wives, this would be a very clear case of when the death penalty is definitely not the best choice in the matter. It's not the best choice in any situation, in my opinion--and I know that this isn't a very popular view, even when it comes from someone, like myself, who has been put through losing a loved one via senseless murder. There are, believe it or not, many victims who are saying in re: to executions Not in my name! because we realize that capital punishment won't bring back our loved ones or deter people from committing murder and other violent crimes. It will simply create another bunch of grieving loved ones! It would take an entire other piece of writing (at least one) to discuss suggestions made that would improve our criminal justice system and lower the crime rate--and, soon, I'll be writing such a piece. For now, though, just imagine what it might have been like for my family, friends, and me had those Cole Porter notes never turned up--and had there been a law that stealing Cole Porter notes was a crime punishable by death...  |
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